Algebra
by WorkWithMeHere
Summary: What's important in life had absolutely nothing to do with algebra.


**Disclaimer: Borrowed characters**

He shouldn't let it bother him. It was stupid to get upset over something as small as this. After the past two weeks you'd think he'd realize what actually mattered. What's important in life had absolutely nothing to do with algebra.

There were no distractions. Well, none useful. None that wouldn't make his heart feel as if it was wrenching in two. He almost wished he hadn't cried himself out. It'd taken him longer than his other brothers to not sob over the sight of a favorite coffee mug, a random shoe.

At the time he hadn't had the energy to let that bother him. But now he felt his cheeks and ears burn when he thought of it. Darry didn't cry at all in front of anybody, but even Pony had gotten a hold of himself quicker than Soda. Pony's gaze would avert from the offending item, focusing on something unimportant and mundane, his usually bright and intelligent eyes empty and blank and dry.

Yet now that the tears had run dry, all Soda was left with was an all-encompassing sorrow. Crying didn't seem so bad right about now.

Soda glanced across the table where Pony sat, it was odd to see such a vacant face scribbling that fast. A surge of pathetic jealousy ripped through Soda. It seemed like Pony was using the extra school work they needed to catch up on as a readymade distraction, throwing himself into the work, reading ahead, putting full effort forth, even though Pony's teachers would give him A's for turning in a piece of paper with his name in it. They practically told him that when they came and paid their condolences. But grade school and high school were different places. Different worlds practically.

As soon as the jealousy came, it passed, guilt in its place. The kid was barely able to keep his eyes open. Sleep was a rarity, and Soda knew Pony felt like a burden because of it. But screaming after a nightmare ain't really something you can talk yourself out of.

Soda tried to focus once more on his math problem. Some jackass thought it would be a good idea to add in letters with the numbers. Idiot.

So instead of turning towards the stove where his mother would be, should be, cooking dinner, to ask for her help, he looked back at the problem determinedly. He glared at the problem, as if he stared hard enough the answer would come to him. No luck. This problem was going to defeat him. He would skip it, but he had skipped the last two.

And it wasn't as if Darry was around to ask. Money was tight so any job, any hour, Darry grabbed. Pony probably could understand it. The kid could understand all of Soda's work. But Soda wasn't about to ask his little brother for help.

Oh, no. Now this was more than a fight for the answer. It was a fight for control. Nothing was going right. So he would make this problem right. Fix it. Make it make sense. He would.

Except he didn't even know how to start. It was a foreign language. Nothing made sense. It was impossible. Growing agitated, Sodapop practically growled at his paper, causing Ponyboy to look up. He gave Soda a questioning look, and at Soda's shake of the head, went back to his work.

Darry only made it worse when he finally got home. He sat at the table where the two younger boys were working, but not even small talk was made. Unable to take the silence much longer Soda stood, taking the math problem over to the couch, turning the television on, setting the volume on low. Background noise.

"Math?" Soda nodded at Darry's question, refusing to answer aloud.

"Need help?" Soda's face heated up.

Teeth gritted he uttered a short "no" earning himself an eyebrow raise from Darry.

"You ain't that far along," Darry observed, "almost done with that problem?"

The pencil in Soda's hand came down hard and fast on the coffee table.

_I won't cry. I will not cry over math homework._

"I'm working on it," he said quietly.

"Lemme see, I can help ya," Darry offered. He reached over and looked at the problem.

Soda didn't listen as Darry talked him through the problem. This was not Darry's homework. It was his. He wasn't so hopeless as to not know his own math problem.

Except that he was. He was that hopeless. That pathetic.

Soda looked back into the kitchen. He imagined his mother standing in Ponyboy's place doing the dishes, explaining things in a way teachers and brothers didn't know how to. Soda Speak.

Darry tapped his head with the pencil. "You following me, little buddy?"

Soda nodded.

Later, in bed, Soda pulled the math problem close to him once more. He erased Darry's answer. This was going to be one last test. He was going to see if he could do the problem.

Time crawled by. Even with Darry's work etched into the paper, Soda could not answer the question.

Instead of crying, wishing for a better brain, an easier life, Sodapop sighed.

He decided that algebra was no longer going to be in control.

Besides, algebra wasn't what was important in life.

He'd tell Darry in the morning.

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